2 Poems

dear hairless chelsea,

Two women are building a house
around a dying animal.
They go to the river
& dig up clay
to make into bricks
they bake in an oven.

The bricks stack up high.
Four, five deep.
The walls are thick.
They leave space for a window.
They leave space for a door.

They finish the house
& the animal says
thank you so much
but I am still dying.

Love,
Sara

dear hairless hairless tiny teacup pig playing a piano,

Your song gives me chills.
& the piano you've got sounds
just like the feeling I had riding
the train into this bright city
for the first time & so often since.
Where did you get your piano?
Because the notes all remind me
of people I know, people I knew,
& of these beautiful intersecting lines
they draw across my field of vision,
these single words that I don't
know the meanings of, but know
the feelings of, & how they move
with me when I turn my head
or walk down the street or kiss
a person other than the one
I wish I was kissing.

Hairless, it feels like you
are putting your whole hands
in my wounds.
It feels like a dream
about your family
where everyone dies.
One you can't stop having,
that strangers quote
at you on the street,
that is projected
on the wall
in your favorite
restaurant.

Pig, can we stop now?
I love your song, it's true,
I can't stop looking at it,
but I am tired of feeling for now.
Let's sleep quietly on our stomachs
& hope everything's changed
by the time we wake up.

Love always,
Sara

</br></br> “dear hairless hairless alice” was previoiusly published in Winter Tangerine Review.